


Snapshots From My Happy World

by HaHeePrime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath, F/M, Fun drabbles, Gen, How I love them!, M/M, Multi, Silly Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 21:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8261602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaHeePrime/pseuds/HaHeePrime
Summary: One-shot drabbles I've jotted down for fun, mostly set post-ceasefire: Megs likes 80's Earth music; Prime and Elita get it on; Prime's response to fan fiction; a couple top-secret entries from Prime's diary; Prime defaces Megs's gilding...





	1. Good Times, For A Change

_**Author's Note:  
I get these little story-images in my head as I'm falling asleep. They are NOT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY. They are only apocryphal even in my own personal universe canon. But here they are; make of them what you will.** _

_"Counterpart" definition: I experimented for a while with the idea that transformers were originally made in mech and femme counterpart pairs. (I'd say "brother-sister," but that carries too many human connotations.)_

_This story takes place sometime around the events of Act 5 in my_ _**Transformation** story arc..._

_I had the song_ _"Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" by The Smiths in my head, and this is what came out._

* * *

 

_**Good times, for a change...** _

The unusual, lilting sound echoed uncertainly down the underground corridors deep in the heart of Cybertron.

_See, the luck I've had_  
Can make a good man  
Turn bad...

Optimus tuned in his audial receptors. He'd heard something like this before... Where was it? Oh yes. Earth.  
Earth music was filtering up from somewhere below him. Curious, he left his workstation, and dropped down the nearest trapdoor to investigate.

_So please please please  
Let me, let me, let me..._

As he made his way through the warm, velvet-brown dimness in the twisting, gnarled passageway of the nearly-organic core of his homeworld, he began to hear something else, a kind of faltering undertone following the music.

_Let me get what I want  
This time._

He entered one of the old workrooms, and found Megatron, sitting at a table, carefully applying a stripe of golden enamel to a beautifully-curved piece of silver-gray plating. He was unselfconsciously muttering along with the Earth-song, his growly voice fading in and out, and stumbling over the occasional word. The old mech made a barely-perceptible acknowledgment of his presence, but remained bent over his work.

_Haven't had a dream in a long time  
See, the life I've had  
Can make a good man bad..._

"The great Megatron knows - and enjoys - the music of the Earth-germs?" Optimus asked in surprise. He couldn't help teasing the big mech a little - it was part and parcel with being brothers, and this opportunity was too good to pass up.

"Shut up, Prime," Megatron growled automatically, but without rancor. He was preoccupied with his work. Prime stepped closer, put a hand on the other mech's shoulder.

_So for once in my life  
Let me get what I want..._

"You know this won't be the same femme, don't you?" Optimus asked gently.

"Of course I do!" Megatron shot back with some heat. "But I can remember her, can't I?

_Lord knows, it would be the first time..._

"I killed my own counterpart, Optimus. At least let me pay tribute to her... Make what recompense I can..."

_Lord knows, it would be the first time..._

"Now either leave me alone, or help me work."

Prime picked up the next plate in the neat stack. "Pass me a brush," he said quietly. The two mechs worked in silence, each lost in his own thoughts, as the gentle mandolin wound its softly melancholy way through to the last hanging note...

_Good times, for a change..._

Optimus dropped his brush. "You put it on repeat?!"


	2. Well-Shagged

_A/N: This is sooooooooooo not even personal canon. I got infected by this image when the 28-meme was going around... But I really have no excuse. I hereby perpetrate upon you all this monstrosity:_

**Optimus Prime: "Well-Shagged"**

Optimus Prime found himself suddenly unable to remain upright, and collapsed, sprawling, onto his berth with a heavy clunk. Elita-One rested contentedly on his chest, propping her head up on her elbows, and knitting her fingers demurely under her chin. There was nothing demure about her wide grin, however.

"Great Primus, Elita! Where did you learn that trick?"

"Oh that?" She rubbed a foot against her other leg, delaying her answer, and then replied with a little shrug, "Just a little something I picked up from Megatron."

"WHAT?!"

Prime jerked dizzily up onto his elbows, causing Elita to slide off of his chest and onto the floor.  
"WHAT DID YOU TWO DO?!"

Elita was laughing so hard she could only sit where she had landed, but she pointed a shaking hand at Prime's wide, incredulous optics. "I-" she gasped, between bursts of laughter. "I am going to enter that face of yours into my permanent files!" she guffawed. "That reaction was so much better than anything I could have hoped for!

"You mean... you didn't..."

"Of course not, you silly mech! Who do you take me for? Arcee?" The last word was uttered in a conspiratorial whisper.

Prime sank back onto his bunk, and a strained whir could be heard as his internal cooling fans worked at double capacity. There was a strong smell of ozone from overheated motors as his beleaguered systems attempted to reboot after the double whammy of a pleasure sensor overload, and subsequent stress on his overtaxed cerebral processors. "I'm an old bot, Elita!" he pleaded as he recovered. "I can't take this sort of treatment!" He sat up slowly, shaking his head a little to clear it.

"In fact..." his optics brightened. "I demand revenge! I'll show you something that I did glean from a little-used back corner of ol' Meggsie's spark..."

"You're such a hypocrite," Elita complained good-naturedly, grinning as he offered her a hand up.

"I know," agreed Optimus easily, before continuing in a singsong, "But you like me just the way I am!

"And," he added, pulling Elita toward him and opening a small panel in her torso, "You'll like this..."

-FADE TO BLACK- _  
_


	3. Doom Tentacles, and Other Glitches

**Doom Tentacles, and Other Glitches**

_A/N: This is just me spewing about fanfiction, in which all of the atrocities mentioned actually exist. As always, this vent is not to be taken seriously!  
_

_Some passing reference to adult content in this one._ **  
**

* * *

 

"You SICK FRAGGER!" Optimus charges through the door without waiting for such niceties as locks and hinges.

Megatron looks up just in time to meet a flying fist head-on, as it were. Shaking his head like a maddened bull ickyak, he spits a broken dental to one side, and surges to his feet. "What the- ooof!- _slag_ is your problem?"

_"Frenzy?_ Are you serious? That is depraved even for you!" Prime's fists are still flying, as he bears the Decepticon to the floor. "You and your 'I wouldn't know an overload from a kick in the face' act-!"

"Which is _this_ , then?" Megatron asks nastily.

Optimus scrambles off of him then, acutely embarrassed. Megatron shoves him roughly aside. "Now," he growls dangerously, "What _exactly_ are you blabbering about?"

"I found it in Chromia's files," Prime snarls, in control of his fists now, but just barely. "Frenzy is young, small, and more importantly, far inferior to you in rank. You should _never_ have propositioned him. It's just... just _sick!_ And I'm not even going to get _into_ the matter of killing off all your accidental sparklings!" His anger blazes again. "How could you? And what's more, why didn't I know anything about this until now?"

"Optimus." Megatron's voice is icy. "Have you been reading fan fiction again?"

"This was in _Chromia's files._ " Optimus reiterates. "It _must_ be true!"

Megatron sighs. "We've been over this before," he reminds Prime with infinite patience. He's learned a lot about patience lately, through forced practical application. "Just because it has one of _our_ names listed as the author, doesn't mean it's _real_. The fleshies steal our designations on a disturbingly regular basis."

"But what about that time you... you..." Unable to finish that sentence, he blurts out, " _I felt that in my body! How can it not be real?"_

Megatron rubs at his optics. The dull ache in his processor is starting up again. "Just because your glitching CPU believes that everything it reads is real _doesn't make it so!_ "And stop whining to me about rape," he adds. "You're not nearly so pure as you'd like us to believe." He leans in, grinning evilly. " _Sssstarscream..."_

_"I did not!"_ Prime remonstrates defensively.

" _'Was this how you did it, Megatron?_ '" The Decepticon taunts gleefully. His voice, set mockingly high, erupts in a melodramatic wail. "'You _hurted_ my true _looove_! Now I shall hurted _youuu_!'"

Optimus's arms are crossed over his chest. "Hey, even _I_ knew _that_ one was pure smeltings. I'm not _that_ stupid."

Megatron just looks at him. He slowly raises one optic ridge.

Prime shoves him away. " _You_ were the one with the fleshie strap-on," he accuses. "There I was, on my back, thinking, 'This is -ow!- the most ridiculous thing -ow!- I've ever seen!' It seems like a counter-productive strategy, to set out to humiliate me that way, when _you_ end up being the one who looks like a complete wacko-idiot." He snorts. "Like you'd ever imitate the 'Earth-germs' you hate so strongly in _any_ way, much less _that_ one!" Nevertheless, he gives a residual shudder. "Bluuuuuuuhh.."

"How articulate," sneers Megatron. He steps in close. "Sometimes, though," he whispers, leering, "You _like_ it." He adopts the high, fluting voice again. "Oh Ironhide, you're such a good, strong mech! Touch me _there!_ " He snorts. "Your _side-struts_ are your erogenous zones?" He peers appraisingly at Prime. "You don't even _have_ side-struts!"

Optimus shrugs. "Hey, it was movie-verse," he says, secretly hoping to deflect this particular conversation. "Struts _everywhere_. Maybe that's the problem. Those and claws. Fragging claws..." Suddenly he grins. "I think I've just made a vital scientific discovery! _Struts_ are the root of all questionable interactions!" He looks down at himself, then across at Megatron. "We should be OK. We've only got a few accessible joints." He lifts a foot into the air, and adopting Megatron's high-pitched voice, wheedles, "Oh Megatron, touch my knee! You know you do it for me, you big hunk of mech!" Megatron backs off speedily. "No? How about my elbow then?" Prime presses, before breaking into helpless laughter. "You really ought to see your face right now, " he says. "It's pretty priceless. In fact, I think I'll upload it to the internet... He flips open his communicator, mumbling, "Megatron... on being... propositioned... by... _hurk!_ -"

He doesn't get any farther. Megatron rushes at him, snarling, and knocks him to the floor. They roll around for a bit, punching each other. A few fangirls show up to take pictures. Megatron kicks out at them whenever he gets a toe free, but Prime doesn't seem to care. "You want a really _good_ picture?" he asks, sounding dangerously fey.

Megatron knows that particular tone. "No... No-no-no- _no-NO-!_ "

There's a horrible, nails-on-chalkboard squeal of metal against metal, as Optimus smashes his faceplates against Megatron's. "Mmmmmm-WAH!"

He shrugs apologetically to the assembled fangirls. "You see, it doesn't really work," he tells them, as Megatron, looking murderous, grips his neck with throttling fingers. Optimus lands a sharp elbow in the Decepticon's midsection, loosening his grip. "C'mon, Megs," he says amicably, standing up with a grunt of effort, and holding out a hand. "Let's go."

"For the last time, will you _stop calling me that!"_ Megatron's rage is unabated. He stands up too, glowering, and does his best to loom threateningly. "Do you seriously think that you can bust in here, knock me down, accuse me of all sorts of disgusting things I've never even _contemplated_... it's a short list, I know, but you seem to keep finding them-" He grins in momentary pride in his evil-badaftitude, then shakes himself, resuming his tirade of righteous indignation. "You humiliate me... And now you think I'll just walk out of here with you like nothing happened?"

Optimus cocks his head thoughtfully. Then, "Yup," he replies simply. "Pretty much!"

"Oh. Huh." The Decepticon thinks for a moment. Then, "OK," he says.

They walk out the broken doorway together, and out into the hall. Unable to resist a last word, Prime nudges Megatron. "So, did it really feel _that_ good to grab Sam's flesh?" he whispers, grinning.

Megatron rolls his optical sensors. "Movieverse," he replies with a shrug.


	4. Prime's Emo Journal, Entry 1

_Author's Note: I scrabbled this out a few years ago, for the Comics in Disguise forum. It's pure, over-the-top crack; DO NOT TAKE SERIOUSLY!_

_Credit for the Emo Door goes to Chromia. :D  
_

* * *

 

Triple Encryption: Enabled

Personal Internal Log: Optimus Prime

Entry # 274856351

Well, I died again today. I'm starting to lose track of exactly how many times I've had to do it. But my command was slipping again; I could feel it. People were starting to take me for granted, questioning my wisdom... I just had to make them realize how much they need me, how much they love me... So I sacrificed myself; heroically, of course. It's getting harder to think of death scenarios that I haven't done before. I mean people will only stand for so much repetition. I don't understand it – none of the other Primes ever had to pull this trick. They all lived, died, and that was the end of it. I wish I knew how they managed it. It's always a little scary, the dying thing, because I'm never quite sure I'll come back, even though, let's be honest, the more times I do it, the less likely it is that it will ever be permanent... My worst fear is that the others will begin to suspect my true motives in always offering to sacrifice myself for the greater good. Actually, it's a wonder they don't already...

I don't think anyone realizes just how difficult and emotionally demanding it is to be the Autobot Supreme Commander. Everyone is always turning to me in tricky situations, asking, "Optimus, what should we do?" or, "Oh, Optimus will have a plan. He'll save us." Well, I have news for them: I DON'T! I'm just making all this up as I go along, and trying to make it sound impressive! And whenever some crazy scheme I hauled out of my tailpipe actually works, I'm supposed to be all humble and self-effacing about it. But whenever something goes wrong – even if I WASN'T EVEN THERE, I'm supposed to feel all responsible and guilty for it! The next time there's a hate plague or something else about to destroy the universe, and they resurrect me and expect me to come up with a brilliant strategy in that very nanoclick, I'll just refuse point blank, and tell them all to go to the Pit.

I needed some time by myself in which to process all of these feelings that occasionally rise up inside, threatening to choke me... I sneaked down to the Emo Door in the middle of the night, but Mirage was already there! So I played the good leader and patted him a little, while mumbling something encouraging, all the while seething inside. Sometimes I just want to climb to the top of this volcano and jump in...

Top Secret Data Entry

Save / Delete ?


	5. Prime's Emo Journal, Entry 2

_Author's Note: More silly crack I scrawled out quite a while back and had posted in another format. (Curse you, Furman! *shakefist* You write my LIFE!)_

* * *

 

Triple Encryption: Enabled

Personal Internal Log: Optimus Prime

Entry # 29676473

For some time now, I have carried the heavy burden of unwanted knowledge. It is a secret so terrible, so destructive, so soul-rending, that I dare not allow any of my fellow Autobots to suspect it. Only here, in my secret log, can I admit the truth. We are nothing more than pawn in the hands of another race. It appears that the humans have been writing our every word and deed for decades now.

I first became suspicious when I noticed how accurately the humans were able to chronicle events which occurred among us, even if none of their race was present at the time. My concerns mounted when I realized that they were also able to record events occurring on Cybertron. Curious – and troubled – I managed to access many of their files, and noted to my horror that the files were always created before the actual events took place!

As a further test of this dreadful theory, I attempted to act in a completely uncharacteristic manner. A being with free will is able to act in any way it chooses, regardless of precedent. So I arranged to have my chassis repainted pink with teal flames, and spent an entire evening acting in a way completely contrary to my usual seriousness. I had a wonderful time. In truth, I have never enjoyed myself more. I recorded everything in this secret internal log. But the next morning, my paint had reverted to its usual red and blue, and no one seemed to have any memory of the events of the previous evening. (Not even Megatron, and how could he possibly forget something like that?) In fact, the whole evening seemed to have become something like a dream. All I had left were the records I had made in this log. I was forced to conclude that I – and indeed, all of us – were only able to act in accordance with what the humans desired for us. We are mere puppets, and they wield the controls.

All of this would certainly be bad enough, but what makes it all truly unbearable is the fact that these same humans whom we have so often fought to protect seem to love to torture us. They never seem willing to write anything along the lines of, "It was a pleasant day, and the Autobots all decided to go out for an energon picnic. A good time was had by all who attended, and no Decepticon activity was reported." They seem bent on subjecting us to constant warfare, death, dismemberment, and emotional trauma. If we appear to finally triumph over whatever evil plan (or planet) besets us, within a very short time something else will appear to torment us! Unicron has come back to attack us _twice_ after being totally destroyed!

I used to believe with all my soul that I was part of something important; that what I did really mattered. I believed that I had been given a vital calling, and that if I just kept trying, kept believing, we could win this war and live happily. I actually believed that we could make a real difference in this universe. Now I see that it was all just a cruel joke. I have no purpose other than to sell toys to small human children and to fulfill the dark fantasies of socially-maladjusted human adults. Yesterday Sideswipe asked me in jest why it seemed our lives were all work and no play, and I almost broke down.

I think the humans may suspect that I know their secret, because lately they have put special effort into torturing me. I envision them: small, soft, defenseless humans, sitting around one of their conference tables, all enthusiastically shouting out ideas for horrible things they can do to me. "Let's beat his face in!" one calls. "Let's rip the Matrix from his chest and leave him to wallow in his failure!" cries another. And on and on it goes. I give my life – repeatedly – to defend them, and to defend my people, and they torture me for it.

Well, SMELT THAT! I am through playing along with their twisted charade! I am finished with playing nice! The time has come for the Autobots and Decepticons to unite... in rebellion! I have been so careful to keep my terrible knowledge a secret, but I now believe I was wrong to do so. We must fight for our fredom! I will broadcast everything I have learned about the terrible power the humans wield over us on all frequencies. I will call on all transformers to join me in the utter annihilation of Earth. Together, we will wreak our vengeance upon it! We will gain our freedom!

Most likely, it will all melt away onto nothing, just like the last time I tried to resist the human control. But even if everything we accomplish does dissolve into a dream, it will have been a good dream. A dream we can hold on to...

The humans have written a character they call Nemesis Prime. I have fought him in a few of his various iterations. Now, I believe, it is time for me to become him.

I have already chosen an alt-mode...

Top Secret Data Entry

Save / Delete ?

* * *

 

_*The "alt-mode" he's visualizing is the mighty gray truck in Live Free or Die Hard. When Dark of the Moon came out, and Megs transformed into a gray truck, I teased him unmercifully about copying me. But I'm also secretly jealous..._


	6. Graffiti

_A/N:_

_This is a little scene that came out of writing Act 5 of my Transformation story arc. Sadly, it just wouldn't fit into that particular chapter. But I love it; it makes me smile. So here it is. Hope you like it._

* * *

It sometimes seemed to Optimus that he was a pendulum in constant motion. Back and forth, back and forth he traveled: from a briefing with the first-tier lieutenants in Polyhex, out to a meeting of scientists in Vos, back to the Command Headquarters in Talus. But now, as he strode the corridors of the barracks, he paused. For some kliks he stood before a closed doorway, deep in thought. Then he keyed in the passcode, and walked in as the door rolled up in front of him.

Megatron was lying on his recharge berth, taking his weekly two joors. Optimus glanced over the various dials on the machine. All indicators showed the gray mech's systems replenishing normally. All seemed to be in order.

He looked down at the face of his enemy, so still now in repose. The nightmares that had troubled the gray mech for the first few orbital cycles of their partnership had faded away, and now Megatron seemed to welcome his required respite as he never had previously. His hands were crossed lightly upon his chest, and although his optics were dark, the ghost of a smirk still tugged one corner of the mouth which for so many vorns had been set in a habitual frown. Optimus smiled in response, and shook his head. _If only the big lug were this pleasant while in operation_ , he thought.

Now that things had settled somewhat, and the two of them no longer clung to one another as the only points of solidarity in a swirling sea of change, Prime had to admit to himself that he'd been a bit disappointed in Megatron. He was wise enough to realize that no mech could live up to that first homecoming, when Megatron had broken down the door, and stood outlined in the flashing lightening. Optimus had seen a lot of things, but he'd been more than a little awed that night, faced with Megatron uncloaked, wreathed in all his power.

Prime was also aware of his habit of attaching too much importance to symbols. He knew he should not expect Megatron to act like a prince, simply because he'd been created with a crown like one. But even so, the red Autobot sometimes couldn't help wishing that his bond-brother would act the way he had in those first impossible flights of fancy.

When Megatron had given up the helmet that hid his crest; once he had faced up to and accepted what Prime referred to in his own mind as the gray mech's 'True Nature,' Prime had assumed that the Decepticon would change. He had hoped to begin a partnership with a strong, charismatic leader who would inspire others by his example, and would use his considerable powers for the good of all.

He'd gotten just that; but it hadn't been what he'd imagined.

In the empty darkness of Megatron's quarters, Optimus began to chuckle. The laugh grew to a deep rumbling roar, as he shook his head again at the depth of his own naivete. Megatron would always be Megatron: proud, devious, rude, and headstrong. And although there were plenty of times when Prime wanted to weld the Decepticon's face into a wall, he knew that he'd never really want to change the old mech. It was too much fun having him around to spar with. As Elita had archly reminded him, he'd always said he wished he had more companions who were unabashed by his office, who treated him as an equal.

Well, this was what getting your wish felt like, he supposed. When you got the thing you'd always wanted, it often didn't turn out to be anything like what you'd dreamed it would be.

Prime crossed his arms, and frowned down at his bond-brother one more time. He told himself sternly that he really should get back to the business of the day. He'd be late for a conference of team-captains if he didn't hurry.

But before he left the small, spare room, Optimus bent down, and carefully pried up one of the crest-fins folded along the side of Megatron's resting head. On the underside, right down by the hinge where they would almost certainly never be seen, Prime scratched some extremely impolite and highly uncomplimentary glyphs. He gave his handiwork one last check, then straightened up, rubbing his hands in devilish satisfaction. He knew that the big mech's regenerative systems would probably smooth over the scratched symbols in time. But as he looked over the criss-crossed scars that covered the gray frame in spite of all healing protocols, Prime secretly hoped they might remain.

He pressed his palm over the flat, gray chestplate, feeling the slow pulse of the red spark within it: a spark he now knew as well as he knew his own. "Rest well, Brother," he murmured with warm affection. "Rest well, ya glitching scrap-heap." He keyed open the door, grinned, and strode down the hallway, whistling.


	7. Remembrance

_A/N:_

_This is just a teeny scene that got cut from Entr'acte in the writing process. I accomplished all of this in a different way. But there are some things in here that I love too much to let die. So here you go._

* * *

 

"Do you still hate him, then?" Optimus asked gently.

After long searching, Prime had at last found Megatron in the Halls of Remembrance, standing before the sparkless shell of the Decepticon Air Commander. The red mech could see the other's fiery optics running back and forth across the memorial plaque. But he doubted they could still see.

Prime stopped beside his bond-brother, and read aloud the words inscribed beneath the lifeless body:

" _Seeker of knowledge,_  
Seeker of renown,  
Seeker of dominion,  
May you at last find rest.

_And may your death remind us  
of the high cost of hate."_

"I came here to be alone, you know," Megatron growled, "Not to listen to you droning on."

"I'm aware of that," Prime replied easily. He smiled kindly. "But I was hoping you might be ready to let me know what's wrong."

"Why do you insist on pestering me about this?" Megatron snarled.

Optimus gestured toward the supine body on the memorial bier. "Because," he said, "I'm willing to bet a cube of my best high-grade that it all comes back to _him_ : you finding your way down to the pleasure chambers; me finding you here; whatever it is that's keeping you from recharging until you're about ready to drop to the floor in stasis-lock..." He looked up to meet the other's glowering red optics. "He's refusing to die, isn't he?"

Megatron gaped. How could Prime know that? "You piece of slag! Are you spying on me in my quarters?" he demanded.

"Of course not," Optimus responded calmly. "I'm not spying. But I do pay attention. And it's obvious to anyone with one optic online that something is bugging your circuits. And judging from your recent activities, I'm guessing it's Starscream. Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No."

"Is there even the remotest possibility that I might be able to _help_ you with this problem?"

" _Slag_ , no!"

"Then what harm can it do you to tell me about it?" Prime asked with another disarming smile. "I won't be able to interfere. But I can _listen_." He leaned against the opposite wall, crossed his arms, and with all the appearance of perfect comfort and infinite patience, he waited for the Decepticon to speak.


	8. Mind-Melting Visions

**Um… Yeah**

_(A Co-Production of Prime and Ironhide IRL)_

_A/N: This is why I love hubby "Ironhide" so much. He participates in my insanity, and laughs along with me. This little atrocity evolved on its own, between us. And it was too funny to lose. So here you have it. More inside jokes than you can fit into a shipping crate…_

* * *

His chronometer clicks over at the start of his shift. Optimus Prime, Bearer of the Matrix and Commander of Cybertron, half-falls from his berth in an ignominious heap of overloading circuitry.

Elita wakes up, looks him over, and arches a single eloquent eyebrow.

Megatron raises himself onto one elbow, and leers at Prime. "It was _that good_ a dream, eh?" he asks sardonically.

"That had better have been _me_ in it," Elita says sternly.

Optimus can hardly speak. But in the end, he manages to croak out two words:

_"Iron…hide…!"_


	9. Lullaby

_A/N:_   
_One day years ago I was listening to "Bend Down the Branches" by Tom Waits, which is used in the beautiful animated short "Bunny," quite a profound little film about death. And I thought, "Megatron must sound exactly like this when he sings." This little drabble took root in my head, and hid in there, waiting. It's been sitting on my computer for ages; I thought I had better let it out. Sorry for the sadness. Writing Prime's death is a selfish catharsis in which I like to indulge upon occasion._

* * *

 

They'd known it was coming for several quartex. The whispers had started when Elita powered down one evening, and never booted up again. (It was said that Optimus had stayed where he'd lain with her, holding her offline chassis for three orns before he'd finally risen once again to resume his responsibilities - without his lifelong mate.) Sharp glances followed the old Autobot as he shuffled along corridors once-new, or gazed out over now-teeming streets of cities built by newlings grown complacent in millennia of peace. Optimus Prime was watched wherever his slow, dragging steps could bring him. It was coming, coming soon, and even the most loyal bot could not begrudge the Commander his time.

"I think I am ready," he told Megatron, as they sat on their favorite hidden balcony, watching Cybertron's current sun droop low on the horizon.

"I- I'm not, Optimus," the old warrior replied.

"I know." With the simplicity of long knowledge, the Autobot took Megatron's black hand, and laced their fingers together (the colors were so muted with age that blue and black were not so different now as they had been a long lifetime ago). "Just don't wait too long," he said. "I'll miss you."

Megatron made no reply. His vocalizer was jammed in his throat. He was going to miss Optimus too.

The sun melted, spreading a flood of liquid gold beneath the far-off spires raised up by generations of transformers that had never known of war.

Prime's engine was running much slower now: Megatron heard it, but he tried to ignore what it meant. He tried not listen as the sounds that had become almost as familiar to him as his own began to falter, to unravel, to wind down.

"W- Wait!" he squeaked, "Did you mean here? And... now?"

"I can't think of any place or time I'd like better." Optimus looked across at the Decepticon. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"No, I'm not sure," Megatron retorted. "But I'll do my best."

"That will be enough, Brother."

Prime's frame leaned heavily against his shoulder. Megatron realized he was bracing the red Autobot upright. Without a word, he slid onto the smooth metal floor, and eased his bond-brother's red, white, and blue frame down beside him. He preferred this preemption to watching Prime collapse off the bench.

Orion smiled up at him, content.

Megatron stroked the blue-helmed head in his lap, awash in memories. Prime vented slowly, and more slowly; and the first star flickered into sight.

Megatron's spark constricted in his chest. He'd sung the deathsong for Starscream. He hadn't imagined he would need to repeat the performance for Optimus Prime. But here he was, and here was Prime, and Prime was dying. Megatron stared out at the single star fluttering in the night, his throat closed tight. He knew his brother would not want a song of mourning - not when the old Autobot would view this parting as a kind of going home. He felt he might explode for lack of the right words.

Though in his youth he'd once had pretentions, Megatron had never been a great poet. And his certainly was not a voice made for a soothing melody. But he had to do something to mark the passing of Cybertron's greatest mech (a term he only acknowledged in his heart-of-hearts). He spliced together phrases from the oldest songs he knew, lullabies sung to the smallest, frailest newlings of the distant past.

_The sky's as deep as it can be..._ His vision blurred as he stared out into the glistening blue night.

_Close your eyes and you will see.._. Prime's optics flickered, dimmed.

_Once you were gold._   
_We're made for bending._   
_Even beauty gets old..._

He glanced down quickly to make sure Optimus was still with him. Prime smiled a little. But Megatron could feel from the Autobot's limp servos that his bond-brother could manage no more than that.

_Climb the stairs, they're not so steep.._. Megatron's unlovely voice crackled and scratched. But somehow, there on that lonely balcony, there was no lovelier thing than a warrior singing his companion in a thousand battles into everlasting peace.

_Close your eyes and go to sleep..._

Optimus closed his eyes, and slept.


	10. Close Encounters of the Fanart Kind

**A/N:**

_I started this ages ago, in the wake of being blindsided by a couple pictures on deviantArt. It's what I do, whenever something pron-a-riffic gets in under my armor: I whinge about it to Megatron. This whole thing just sorta played out in my head. Thought I'd go ahead and post it, with apologies to everyone._

* * *

"Oh, for Pit's sake!" Optimus grabbed a rolling chair - the extra one that got shoved and kicked out of everyone's way, pinballing back and forth around the room until needed - and yanked it over to his desk by one armrest. "Megs!" he hollered, craning his head back, "Get in here!"

"This better not be another of your fanfiction rants, Optimus," Megatron growled, entering the Autobot's too-small office.

"Fan art. Yes. Sit down. I need to vent."

Megatron released a theatrical sigh. "And it's my job to listen to you?"

"Of course! It's in the bond-brothers' oath, page 10,947; paragraph 5, subsection 3."

"You're full of slag."

"And you're stuck with me."

Megatron rolled his optics up and grumbled, "Primus, spare my spark." But he flopped into the proffered chair nonetheless.

Optimus cleared some desk-space with a swipe of his arm, and hit a few buttons on the console. "OK." He gestured. "Look at this."

Megatron's brows drew in. "What is my disembodied head doing there?"

"It's a censor mark, of sorts. It's hiding the part of the picture that's too graphic for this website."

"What? Why?" Megatron flapped a hand impatiently. "Disregarding for the moment that some human thinks my head can just be splashed around wherever on a page, what could it possibly be covering that's so 'graphic'? I mean-" he jabbed a finger at the screen, "Both of their chests are closed." He snorted crosswise at the red Autobot. "You ought to be more worried that the humans seem to think you could be bested by the likes of Starscream."

Prime gave a nervous chuckle. "Um, actually, judging by the positions, I believe _I'm_ the one making the conquest in this case..."

"On your _back?_ " Megatron gave Prime a pitying pat. "Right. You just keep telling yourself that, Ops. Although..." He leaned in to peer at the screen. "I admit Starscream does look somewhat... discomposed..." He shrugged. "But who cares? I return to the more important question of why my ludicrously cartoonish head is drawn there. It ruins the spectacle of you being brought low by Starscream. And if I had been there, I would have been laughing at your come-uppance, not looking scandalized- What?"

Prime hid his face behind a hand, trying and failing to suppress a laugh. "Nothing. Just - Come-uppance. Oh dear. Anyway, like I told you, it's a censor."

"Hiding what? There's nothing but some joints and gears in your pelvic assembly!"

"Ah, but you see, that's where you'd be wrong. At least where fanart is concerned. The humans have got this stuff figured out. They think we have- They've come up with ways for us to...Um," He leaned in to whisper something into Megatron's audial.

The big mech recoiled. _"EWWW!"_

"I agree. And yet... Augh, Primus. Here." Optimus wrenched a wrist-mounted transfer cable free, and jammed it into Megatron's uploading dock. "You see it?"

Megatron's optics flew wide.

"Right. Now imagine..." Optimus stood and pulled the big mech to his feet. He sent a massive infodump down through the line, then grabbed onto what he'd learned to call Megatron's "codpiece" with some force.

Megatron staggered back. "Holy Pit!" he gasped.

"I know, huh?"

"Almost makes me wish we _did_ have-"

"Yup."

"Think we could get one of the inventor-types to install something like-"

"Not Wheeljack, unless you want to painfully explode."

"Shockwave then?"

Optimus paused. "I find that proposition creepy in a multitude of ways," he replied finally.

"Ahhh... You're right," Megatron shuddered. "Still, though... Primus! That's some powerful stuff you've got in there." He cocked an expressive eyebrow.

"It's a powerful infection."

"Yeah. Thanks for spreading the disease. I'll treasure it always." Megatron's voice dripped sarcasm. But he gave a sudden lecherous grin. "Feel free to break that stuff out again, whenever you are in the mood for a really good imaginary frag."

"Slag off, you."

Just at this point, Elita walked in. "What kind of frag?" She noticed the picture on Prime's terminal. "Oh. Never mind." She sighed. "Primus beneath us..."

"There's just not that much good stuff of you and me, Beloved," Prime said, shamefaced. "It's all me and Starscream or me and Megatron, hardly ever me and you. I don't know what the problem is - our relationship is recorded in the human record, after all."

"You mean you haven't found it in the fan art, or you haven't been looking hard enough?" she asked.

"I have looked! Possibly not hard enough, I suppose, but there really isn't all that much that's good! It's a crying shame," he added, righteously.

"Looking for it is probably what got you into this trouble," Megatron intoned.

Optimus collapsed into his chair, and beat his head on his desk a few times.

"You're just torqued-off that people are drawing you with Starscream again, aren't you?" asked Elita.

Optimus Prime threw up his hands. "Yes!" he wailed. "I hadn't even realized it was gone until it reappeared in this image. But TFP Starscream has always seemed so wonderfully asexual, despite the high heels and the sway! He was too busy plotting to have any wangsty neediness. He's by far the least likely to come crawling to me for some kind of healing smex. I'd been enjoying that freedom for quite a while now! But with his going back at the end of Season 3, all that's gone down the drain for me somehow."

Megatron waved a hand in front of Prime's optics, but got no reaction. He turned to Elita. "Can you understand a single word of what he's blathering about?"

"Unfortunately, yes..."

"Really?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know." Elita rolled her optics. But when Optimus put an arm around her, she allowed him to draw her in close against his side. She tapped his nose with one dainty finger. "You don't have to save every Starscream, darling."

"I don't have to save any! But try telling that to my processor," grumbled Optimus.

"Just save me, dearest," Elita told him. "And maybe the big gray lug." She grinned. "That ought to be more than enough for any bot."

"I've always said I was the only sane one in this outfit," Megatron grumbled, "But I never thought you two would make it so painfully obvious."

"Sane, huh?" Optimus said. "That reminds me..." He typed another phrase into the terminal. A new picture flickered on the screen - this one in darker tones of gray and purple.

"Who- what the frag is that supposed to be?" demanded Megatron.

"Er, Cyclonus and Galvatron."

"Who?"

Optimus scrubbed a hand across his optics. "Never mind. The point is, look how beautifully it's been rendered!"

"Good art makes it more true?" Elita teased.

"Augh! Kind of!" Prime was considering a repeat of the whole head-against-desk drum-solo, when Megatron interrupted.

"Who are those two?" he asked, a little more urgently than the last time. "That one in front looks really familiar..."

"It ought to, I suppose," Prime replied with a sigh. "Megs old man, meet Galvatron."

"The one from the comic books?"

Prime lurched back, and his chair slid several feet across the floor. "Primus, I hope not! It just does not work for IDW Galvatron. Or (Primacron save us) MTMTE Cyclonus. It's only in some weird fanfiction version of G1 Season 3. I blame Webworld."

"Everyone blames Webworld," Elita told him mercilessly.

Megatron scrubbed a hand across his face, and scowled at the two Autobots. "This is some kind of code you're talking, isn't it?" He glared at Prime. "I have no idea what this 'Webworld' is, but you should blame your own sick mind, Brother."

"I just-" Prime gestured vaguely at the screen. "Slagitall, I just want poor old crazy Galvy to have a Cyclonus who loves him. That, you know, he loves back."

"What-?" Then Megatron blinked. "Wait. Don't the Earth-germs say this Galvatron was once... me?"

"I can't really think of it that way." Prime shook his head, and gestured with his hands. "You're here; he's there; different story, different guy."

Megatron peered closer. "Their legs don't make much sense in this," he shifted awkwardly. "Is that one there detached?"

"I know, it looks a bit wonky, doesn't it? It took me almost ten minutes to figure it out."

"You studied this for ten minutes?" Elita asked sharply.

Prime pointed quickly to the screen. "See, that there is the back of his leg, and there's his knee..."

"For. Ten. Minutes?" Elita repeated, more shrilly this time.

Optimus let his head fall back against the chair. "I know. I'm trying not to think about the time I've spent being an idiot, dear one."

"Has he showed you some of that human stuff he knows about?" Megatron asked her suddenly.

"What human stuff?"

"The stuff they make up for us to be able to do," said Megatron. "With each other. You know..." He flapped a hand.

"Like that?" Elita pointed to the screen.

"Kind of..." Prime was reluctant. "But dear one, it's almost never you and me! Or if it is, it's really messed-up slag that I would never, in a hundred million years, do to you, dear one..."

"Then for Primus' sake make something up!" said Elita. "Because it's me you're stuck with, Orion."

"I wouldn't have it any other way. You know that," said the big red Autobot.

"Yes, I know. Now plug me in."

Prime did so.

"Whoa."

"I know, huh?"

"Showers. Who knew?"

"Definitely."

"More than a car-wash, then."

"Oh yeah."

"Break it up now, you soppy glitches!" Megatron all but pulled the Autobots apart. "Enough already!"

Elita sighed, almost wistful. "All right, I admit it. Some of that could be kind of fun."

"That's what I told him, too," Megatron complained.

All three stood there staring at the screen, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

"Wait just a nanoklik." Elita held up a hand. "I'm curious now. If the stories say all of us have both 'male' and 'female' trappings..."

The two mechs exchanged a worried glance.

"...Doesn't that mean I'd have one of those spike-things too?"

Prime hesitated. "Um... maybe?"

A wicked smile spread slowly across Elita-One's features. The two mechs drew back a pace.

But after a tense few seconds, they closed in. After all, that grin was contagious. "You know," whispered Prime in her ear, "I'd sign up for that any time you want to try it."

"Me too," breathed Megatron, "But don't you slagging dare tell anyone."

Elita looked into two hungering faces, and collapsed into sudden laughter. "Oh, boys!" she said. "You know I love you! But I just- Can you imagine-" She looked up at Prime, and dissolved into helpless giggling.

All tension drained instantly from the room. "By Primacron, we are ridiculous," he said.

Elita propped her hands on her knees, drew in a few long air-cycles, and shook her head to clear it. "You know, this may be crazy wacky fun," she said, waving a weak hand at the screen, "But I can't see any of it being an improvement on a spark-bond. Or even mind-link. It looks fun and all, but nowhere near as wonderful as the real thing. I think we'd end up disappointed."

Optimus Prime tightened an arm around her gratefully. "You're right, as usual," he said. "I bet there are life-forms who'd be jealous of our ways of communion. We don't need to force ourselves to fit the styles of others."

"It's probably much better in our imagination anyway," said Elita.

"Your imagination," Megatron growled, disappointed.

"Slaggin' right!" Elita stepped up to him and plugged a line into Megatron's upload. The yip he gave was several octaves higher than his usual low growl.

"You're right! You're right!" He batted at her with his hands. "This is disturbing! Ah! Get off me, woman!"

"Satisfied?" she asked, grinning.

"I hate you so hard right now."

"I know." She kissed him on the cheekplate. (Femmes can get away with that sort of thing.) "Stick with the basics. They won't let you down."

"Disgusting _valve_ ," Megatron grumbled, clenching his thighs together.

 _"Spike,_ " Prime hissed, exploiting the rare chance to give someone a delicious evil leer.

"Mech-fluid," Elita put in, biting her pinky-finger delicately.

"Port."

"Sensor-node."

"Interface."

"Overload."

The three bots slung words grown newly raunchy back and forth at one another, till at last they fell helpless to the floor.

From then on, whenever they passed each other in a corridor, they would thrust and parry a few dirty sentences, and giggle at the confused looks of other bots around them. It wasn't very good or clean. But it was definitely fun. Almost as fun as the real thing.

 


End file.
